


Accidentally In Love

by ruric



Category: Actor RPF, Kane (Band)
Genre: Community: fic_promptly, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-14
Updated: 2011-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22547326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruric/pseuds/ruric
Summary: Written for vae's 2010 prompt: Kane RPS, Christian Kane/Steve Carlson, settle down inside my love (Accidentally In Love, Countin Crows)
Relationships: Steve Carlson/Christian Kane
Collections: fic_promptly Fills 2010





	Accidentally In Love

**Author's Note:**

> Written for vae's 2010 prompt: Kane RPS, Christian Kane/Steve Carlson, settle down inside my love (Accidentally In Love, Countin Crows)

What they'd had was never supposed to have gotten complicated. 

Over the first long lazy summer a mutual interest in music had led to them spending more time together, which in turn led to mutual attraction. No-one was surprised when one lazy summer afternoon around the pool turned into a languid evening with BBQ, beer and good weed, and when everyone else went home Chris stayed. 

Mutual attraction led to no strings fucking and for a few years it worked and everyone was happy.

But somewhere along the way it had gotten complicated without either of them realising. 

When they weren't working they were spending time writing, they played more gigs and got more interest, put out one CD and then another. If they barely covered their costs it didn't matter because they were doing it for the love of it not for money. 

Half of Chris's clothes ended up scattered around Steve's house, two of Steve's guitars took up residence in Chris's apartment. Chris ate more meals at Steve's than he did at home, and Steve spent more weekends sprawled on Chris's couch, notebook balanced on his belly, as they traded lyrics and chords. It didn't matter that they'd kind of sort of moved in together without ever talking about it.

Chris dragged Steve to conventions because he hated flying alone. They got to play more gigs, even if they were playing without the band, they were still playing their music to an audience that loved them. It didn’t really matter that some of the venues had acoustics that sucked. 

Whatever they had, it worked, and when something works you don't fuck with it.

Then the suits from Nashville came with a deal they couldn't refuse and they tried to make it work. Steve waited while they were yanked around, watched as the sound they made was completely stripped of what made it _them_. 

The suits laid out a deal, and the day Chris signed Steve walked out of the studio, back to the Chris's house in Nashville packed any of his shit that had migrated there from LA and went the hell home.

They didn't speak for 9 months until Steve looked up one night at the Hotel Cafe, squinted past the lights and saw a familiar figure standing to the left of the stage, long neck dangling from his fingers.

After the gig Steve pushed outside to grab a smoke, the usual faces gathering around him. 

"Beer?" 

The low drawl skittered down his spine, brought his head up to see the offered bottle. He's always been able to read Chris like a book, for an actor he was shit at controlling his body language. The ducked head, gaze dropping down and away, the roll of his shoulders and the blush staining his cheeks, it’s the nearest Steve thinks Chris will ever get to offering an apology.

He takes the bottle, nudges Chris around the corner to where they can have a little more peace and a lot fewer eavesdroppers. 

"Got some gigs lined up in Portland. The band's coming up. I'd like you," Chris stops, looks down at his boots and coughs, "no. I _want_ you to come and play too."

It's a peace offering of sorts and Steve only drags out the silence for 5 minutes, 'til Chris's fingers have made a mess of the label, before he clinks their bottles together and agrees. 

So he goes, and he plays, and it's as easy as it always was before. 

With an audience howling in front of them and music swelling around them it's easy to let everything go and if they tumble off the stage and into the green room and barricade the door? Well fuck knows the mutual attraction never went away. 

When they emerge 20 minutes later hot and sweaty Chris's shirt buttons are done up wrong and Steve's missing a few buttons but no-one says a thing. Eric rolls his eye heavenwards, Jason laughs and pushes a couple of shots in their direction and it's cool.

Fucking doesn't rebuild the trust, that takes a lot longer. 

But in the end it comes down to this. 

To a hotel room and a bed with sheets all wrinkled, and them, tangled on top like they've never been apart. To Chris, his hair sliding loose, wrapping around Steve's fingers. To wild blue eyes and a murmured "I'm sorry," breathed into his mouth so almost low to hear. 

They've had a more than decade and the simple truth is they complement each other in a way no-one else ever will.

"Settle down," Steve's hand skims down Chris's back, palms his hip, pulls him in close. He doesn't need to say love, they both figured it out a long time ago. 

Their story is in the music, all anyone has to do is close their eyes and listen.


End file.
